Aspiring Adventurer - Paiko in the Paperverse: Fault Lines

#54 - Fear

What is your character’s biggest fear? Show them encountering it.

Paiko is skittish and somewhat easily terrified, but deep-seated anxiety does not often plague him. Unless it has to do with endangering those around him. He knows he has a hidden facet, he knows what he is capable of. And he knows that he doesn't completely understand what he is capable of.

Does that make him... dangerous to be around? Would he one day turn on his friends without knowing?

-

Shut it down, Paiko, shut it down!

Sounds, lights, senses all overwhelmed. All his focus was directed to one central thought: do not yield to the beast inside.

What had triggered this episode, Paiko hadn’t the slightest clue. The important thing was that no one was around. Or. . . or were there people? Where had he been just now? He didn’t remember leaving the Guild Hall. . . but if he was at the Guild, he’d be putting everyone else in danger. But he couldn’t see or hear anyone nearby—

Rrrragh! Brain! Focus!

He clutched his head and curled into a ball, trying to pace his breathing, his heart rate, the adrenaline and dimensional disorder coursing through his system. Through labored huffs and pants, a growl would occasionally escape his throat, only to be bitten back the moment it tried to pass his gritted teeth.

Zyklare would know what to do. He would know what is happening. But I am stuck here, worlds away, no one to consult or comfort or cure me— or save other people from me.

His awareness of his surroundings faded away as he slipped into a half-conscious daze, mental and physical reserves spent.
—

“Hey. Are you awake? Not dead, I know that. I saw your hand twitch earlier.”

. . .

“Think you could maybe get yourself together long enough to move out of the way?”

. . .

“Or not. Fine. Be that way. Be inconvenient. Urgh.”
. . .

“I’d better get a proper thank-you later. You’re not heavy. But I still have to drag you to the MedCen, which is more of a walk than I would like.”

. . . !

Paiko’s brain, slowly rebooting at first, jump started at the mention of the MedCen. That was back at Katanorias. What was he doing. . . there. . .?

He tried to muster the willpower to move, open his eyes, clear his throat, something - but his body wasn’t responding to his brain. Maybe he was still too tired. He didn’t know what he was capable of doing after that mini meltdown.

These episodes of ‘guttering’, as Zyklare had called them, were few and far between. This was the first instance that had occurred outside of the facility.

(Except now he was back at the facility. Somehow.)

“Here we are. Oh, feel like getting up now, do you? The door handle is here.”

Paiko could feel himself rising halfway to his feet, though the movement was automatic, detached. He had no control over his movements. The thought filled him with a strange kind of anxiety, mixed with the burden-free relief of being a spectator in this surreal circumstance.

“Attending to you is outside of my job description. I guess getting someone qualified to help is still my responsibility. . . so just. Sit here. And try not to fall out of the chair.”

The guiding presence disappeared, leaving Paiko alone with a mind that did not want to communicate to his body.

Or, not alone. His eyes opened to blurry shapes in the room that didn’t resolve too well into recognizable figures. The voices, he could hear just fine, but he couldn’t respond to them.

“Wey, anoth’a curiess caise! Wotsa matta w’you?”

“Kyarric, get back in your seat and stop bothering them. They’re clearly not in conversational condition.”

"O, raight raight, din mean no ‘arm. But Zargan! Funny bit y’might wonna know - ‘ee’s tainted. Wi’ a sim’lar oora to tha. . . tha feisty purpa creecha. From ald wold, y’know?”

Paiko stiffened. That bit he had managed to understand. Old world? That... that couldn't be...

The blurry shape called ‘Zargan’ remained at the far side of the room. “The Visors already told us they had taken the drakon out from that timeline. Who knows where it is now. Good riddance. I’ve had my fair share of fights for a lifetime.”

“Ye, litta beast alwais comin’ back, though y’kept dumpin’ ‘im inta th’ sae. Suppose ‘ee din know wa’ ee was doin? Or wa’ we was doin?”

“We were protecting what was entrusted to us. The people entrusted to us. The drakon threatened that safety every single day it returned. You heard what one of the Visors said yesterday. It has the potential to destroy entire civilizations.”

“... ‘twasn empty moon, I thought.”

“Well, you tell me if you want a moon-destroying creature running loose in the multiverse.”

“Past in th’ past, Zargan. Ee kint bother ya no more. An’ if ee’s still ‘round, whatcha plan t’ do besides?”

“I don’t know. File a complaint. Hey, don’t you look at me like that. I’ve put those days behind me. Not like I can do too much damage in this form, anyways-”

The sound of the door opening silenced the two conversing voices. “Hello, I was told there was an emergency-”

The two blurry shapes distinctly pointed in Paiko’s direction. Paiko knew that voice. It was Aultiver, one of the Visors. Surely he would be wondering what Paiko was doing back here. . .

“Who- oh. Oh! Scap. . . guttering again? We’ll get you right as rain in a moment.”

A pressure on his temples, and the world spiraled into a dizzying prism of color.
—
Paiko sat bolt upright, shuddering, shivering, trying to bridge the odd jump in reality. It seemed all that had just been a dream. Just a nightmare. No wonder he couldn’t control his movements.

But dreams tended to slip away after awakening. He could recall everything as vividly and clearly as a memory. Aultiver didn’t recognize him. Called him ‘Scap’, whoever that was, apparently afflicted by the same ‘guttering’ symptoms as himself. That had all the oddness of a dream.

The voices, called Kyarric and Zargan. His scars ached faintly as he realized who they were. Who they must be. Impossible. There was no way; perhaps it was his own faulty memory haunting him with figures from his past.

Why would he even dream about them? The voices? They had never spoken a word to him before. And how could his brain concoct such a conversation between them?

They thought he was dangerous.

They were protecting the world. From him.

That bothered him more than anything else. Nothing he feared more; not the guttering, not the possibility that the felids were also rescued, but that they were right about him. That he was really only a beast, with a built-in drive to tear worlds apart.

No way. He wouldn’t willingly harm anyone.

That cannot be true. It must be a bad dream. I do not destroy things. Only that one time. That was after the experiment. I do not remember my past that clearly, but I was not born with a destroying instinct. 

 

. . . right?

-

1096 words